“What is it you want with me?” asked Mr Nugent, looking hard at him.
“What, don’t even you know me?” asked the stranger, in a hoarse tone.
Again the Rector scanned his features. “No, indeed I do not,” he answered. “I think that you must be labouring under some mistake or other.”
“Indeed I am not,” answered the stranger. “I know you, Mr Nugent, perfectly, and you once knew me. If I was to tell you my name you might be astonished, perhaps, for I was once a pupil of yours. My name is Julian Langley.”
“Julian Langley!” exclaimed Mr Nugent, starting up. “Are you brought to this miserable condition? But would not your father—would not your friends assist you?”
“My father has discarded me, and I have no friends—no one who cares for me,” answered Julian, bitterly. “I am suffering from hunger and thirst, and am but half clothed, as you see. I must die if I am not relieved. Will you help me?”
“I will. Come in; you shall have food at once,” answered Mr Nugent. “You will find an old friend here who will afford you, I know, his sincerest sympathy, my nephew, Digby Heathcote.”
“He will afford me his supercilious pity and contempt,” muttered Julian.
“No, no, no,” said Mr Nugent, kindly; “come in.”
“Beggars must not be choosers,” answered Julian, gruffly, following Mr Nugent into the study.